The Ministry of Justice prison was cleaner than Lin Zefang had imagined.
At least there were no rats swarming, no excrement everywhere, and even a small window that let in light. When the jailer opened the cell door, Lin Zefang saw a wooden bed and a desk inside, with writing brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones neatly arranged on the desk. Several boxes of charcoal were piled in the corner, next to various hammers, pliers, and files.
"Tsk tsk, the Empress Dowager really spares no expense." The jailer untied Lin Zefang's ropes and pushed him inside. "This treatment is much better than those poor scholars outside." Lin Zefang flexed his numb wrists and looked around. The cell was about twenty square meters, and against the wall was a makeshift stove with a rusty iron pot on it.
"This is...?"
"The Empress Dowager ordered it. She said you need a furnace to cast a tripod." The jailer grinned. "But let me make this clear first, if you want to use this thing to escape, hehe..." He patted the hilt of his sword and turned to leave. The cell door slammed shut, the sound of the lock echoing down the corridor.
Lin Zefang stood still, taking a deep breath.
Three months, ninety days—in this era without even a thermometer, he had to create a "Nine Tripods of the Xia Dynasty" that could fool everyone.
He walked to his desk, sat down, and spread out a sheet of Xuan paper, beginning to recall the shapes of bronze artifacts he had seen in modern museums. The real Nine Tripods of the Xia Dynasty were long lost, and historical records were vague, which ironically gave him room to maneuver—after all, no one had ever seen the real thing; as long as it looked "real" enough, it could pass for genuine.
"The shape should reference important Shang and Zhou dynasty artifacts, the decorations should have a primitive feel, the inscription..." Lin Zefang held the brush, his fingers trembling slightly, "...the inscription is the most crucial; it must be a piece of classical Chinese that sounds plausible." As he was writing, the cell door suddenly opened.
A middle-aged man in his forties entered, wearing a gray-blue official robe, with a prison warden's badge hanging from his waist. He had a square face, and his eyes held a cold, scrutinizing gaze.
"Lin Zefang?"
"That's me, a humble commoner." Lin Zefang rose and bowed.
The warden paced around the cell, his gaze sweeping over the sketches on the desk: "I heard you're going to cast a bronze cauldron for the Empress Dowager?"
"Thanks to the Empress Dowager's grace."
"Ha." The warden sneered, "Do you know how many talented individuals have claimed to be able to restore ancient artifacts over the years, only to present the shoddy goods they ultimately offered?" Lin Zefang remained silent. The jailer approached him, lowering his voice: "My surname is Han, and the Han family holds some respectability in the court. To tell you the truth, the Empress Dowager, in recent years, has been sending people to search for auspicious omens every few days to prove her 'divine mandate.' Last month, a Taoist priest claimed he could refine an elixir of immortality, but the furnace exploded, filling the Empress Dowager's palace with smog." Lin Zefang's heart skipped a beat: "Lord Han, are you saying... the Empress Dowager may not truly believe in the Nine Tripods?"
"Whether she believes or not is unimportant," Jailer Han stared at him. "What matters is whether those in the court believe. Prime Minister Han Qingyuan, my cousin, is currently struggling to find a pretext to impeach the Empress Dowager for 'believing in superstitious doctrines.' If you can't produce something decent, he will personally submit a memorial. Then the Empress Dowager won't be able to protect you, and you won't be able to save your life either." Lin Zefang understood. This jailer, ostensibly there to warn, was actually relaying a message—the Prime Minister's side had already taken notice and wanted to use his "fake" to their advantage. "Then, in your esteemed opinion, what should this humble subject do?" Warden Han turned to leave, stopping at the door. "You have two choices. One, confess honestly, and I may grant you a swift death; two, produce something truly remarkable, leaving my cousin speechless."
"And if this humble subject chooses the second option?"
"Then don't blame me for coming to 'supervise' your progress every day." Warden Han snorted coldly, flicking his sleeves as he left.
The cell door closed again. Lin Zefang sat back down at his desk, his fingers lightly tapping the surface.
The situation was more complex than he had imagined. The Empress Dowager needed "auspicious omens" to consolidate her authority, the Prime Minister wanted to find fault with the Empress Dowager, and he, a pawn caught in the middle, could be crushed at any moment.
"Since that's the case..." A ruthless glint flashed in Lin Zefang's eyes, "then I'll create a fake that no one can expose." He picked up his pen again and began planning the process:
**Step One: Design the blueprints.** The design of the Nine Tripods should incorporate features from the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties, being both ancient and majestic. The decorative patterns referenced the Taotie and cloud-and-thunder motifs, but with some "innovation" to facilitate explanation as a "lost Xia Dynasty style."
**Step Two: Material Processing** Ancient bronzes were copper-tin alloys, approximately 85% copper and 15% tin. However, artisans of this era might not have understood the precise proportions, so they had to find ways to obtain pure copper and tin ingots and mix them themselves.
**Step Three: Casting Techniques** Modern methods use the lost-wax casting method, but it's too complex and easily exposes the forgery. A ceramic mold method, the mainstream technique during the Shang and Zhou dynasties, was chosen, and artisans of this era could understand it.
**Step Four: Antiquing** This is of paramount importance. Newly cast bronzes are shiny, immediately revealing their forgery. Chemical methods must be used to accelerate oxidation, forming green patina and black patina. Copper sulfate, hydrochloric acid, burial in soil… Lin Zefang quickly jotted down several solutions on paper.
He wrote until late at night, the charcoal fire in the stove gradually dying down, plunging the cell into darkness.
The next morning, the jailer brought breakfast—a bowl of thin porridge and two cornbread buns. Lin Zefang wolfed it down and then made his request to the jailer:
"Please convey to the Empress Dowager that I need fifty catties of copper, ten catties of tin ingots, one hundred catties of clay, and some charcoal. Also..." He paused, "...I need a few craftsmen from the foundry to help me." The jailer was stunned: "Do you think this is a shop? Asking for people and goods?"
"Since the Empress Dowager wants genuine goods, she must naturally provide the necessary conditions," Lin Zefang said neither humbly nor arrogantly. "If I cannot provide them, I am powerless to help." The jailer muttered something and left. An hour later, the jailer, Han, arrived in person.
"Copper, tin, and charcoal are fine, but no craftsmanship," he said coldly. "The Empress Dowager has ordered that no outsiders are allowed to contact you, lest you leak 'secrets.'" Lin Zefang cursed inwardly, but smiled and said, "I'm afraid I can't handle it all by myself..."
"If you can't handle it all, that's your problem," Warden Han interrupted him. "Remember, you only have three months. Every ten days, I will come to check your progress. If you're just going through the motions..." He didn't finish his sentence, but the threat was clear.
In the days that followed, Lin Zefang lived the life of a "prisoner craftsman."
The jailers would bring materials every day, and he transformed his cell into a makeshift workshop: the stove was upgraded to a small furnace, charcoal was piled in the corner, and clay soaked in a bucket of water. He first sculpted the prototype of a tripod from wood, then wrapped it in clay to make a pottery mold.
The most difficult part was controlling the temperature. In ancient times, there were no thermometers; everything depended on experience. Lin Zefang could only guess the temperature by the color of the charcoal fire: dark red was about 600 degrees Celsius, orange-red about 900 degrees Celsius, and yellowish-white over 1100 degrees Celsius. Bronze's melting point is around 1000 degrees Celsius; a slight deviation in the heat would result in either it not melting properly or being overheated.
The first casting attempt failed; the clay mold shattered, and molten bronze spilled everywhere.
The second attempt, with an incorrect copper-tin ratio, resulted in a brittle tripod that broke at the slightest tap.
The third attempt finally succeeded, but the surface was pitted and uneven, like it was covered in pockmarks.
Lin Zefang gritted his teeth and started again and again. His hands were scalded with blisters, half of his eyebrows were singed off, and he lost a lot of weight.
Ten days later, Warden Han came to inspect.
He glanced at the seven or eight scraps piled in the corner and sneered, "That's it?"
"My lord, don't be impatient. Rome wasn't built in a day," Lin Zefang wiped his face, which was covered in coal dust. "This humble servant has figured out the tricks of the trade; the next batch will surely have finished products."
"You'd better keep your word," Warden Han said, tossing out the last sentence before turning and leaving.
That night, Lin Zefang lay on his wooden bed, staring at the cobwebs on the ceiling.
He was gambling on a bold idea: Since no one in this era had ever seen the real Nine Tripod Cauldrons of the Xia Dynasty, the standard of "authenticity" was in his own hands.
The key wasn't how exquisite the cauldrons themselves were, but how believable the accompanying "story" was.
He sat up, lit an oil lamp, and spread out a new sheet of paper.
This time, he wasn'